I edit and edit and rinse and swill till it’s all back out again;
Like deep-cleansing an ulcer.
But I always let the rot in first.
I’ve been writing forever, yet I still go through this painful convoluted process of writing down everything I’m thinking, with a clot of butter on top.
I trawl back over it on round two, dropping adverbs and adjectives like little smoking bombs, just in case I hadn’t blown it up already.
By round three, unsurprisingly, I discover that I’ve annihilated a sturdy piece of prose.
I do the reverse of what I should do.
When I know the rules well:
Thou shalt not overwrite
Thou shalt not clutter with adjectives and cling onto adverbs
Thou shall not waffle and slow the pace.
Why do I do it?
Is it for a higher purpose hidden from my conscious mind?
Or part of a psychological limbering-up before the literary sprint?
Perhaps I’m so confused, when I sit down to work, that I’m dementedly writing out, round or into what I really want to say?
I have no idea.
Perhaps I’m just stupid.
I'm wasting time.
I want to write good stiff prose – right off the bat - without prancing round the gardens first...